


stay with me, the world is dark and wild

by orphan_account



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Families of Choice, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationships, One of my headcanons, Paris in the 1950s though I don't really go into much description, Post-coffin, but i wrote this one, the other one is much better and more angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like the city itself, she was recovering from her own war. Only, this was the field upon which she would lose once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay with me, the world is dark and wild

**Author's Note:**

> An exploration of Carmilla and Lilita when they found each other again. Few things to note:  
> 1\. Azriel is the Hebrew name for the Angel of Death, or an incarnation thereof. I thought it would be fitting.  
> 2\. Midway through the third act, I started listening to the _Into the Woods_ soundtrack so this is very much influenced by _Stay with Me_ from which the title comes.  
>  3\. It's meant to be ambiguous so it's up to you what went down between Lilita and Carmilla to make her act and feel the way she does.

She sat back, her eyes scanning the streets of the Rue de Rivoli for something, anything that might have been familiar. She had never been good at this, never been good at being at peace for so long. So much of her life had been spent moving from one place to the next, never truly staying in one place until that box.

She could still feel it, still drowned in the blood that had filled it in her dreams until she woke up gasping, breathing in unnecessary gulps of air until she calmed, until reality set in. It was always this, always the same and she doubted she would ever truly leave the past behind.

It was a wonder that she had even lasted this long, had stayed in this place for more than a year. Paris was not new to her, had never been even when she had been turned, but there was something about this place, something about the smell of resurrection and rebirth that appealed to her more than anywhere else in the world.

The signs of war were still there, still prominent on the face of every generation she came across, but they were disappearing more and more with each day that seemed to pass. It called to her, whispered to her whenever she prowled the streets in the dead of the night, searching for new prey with which to entertain herself.

This was the home of Voltaire, of Comte and Diderot. There were others, countless others whose works she had read, had enjoyed much more, but to be here was as close to being home as she would ever get without returning to Austria, to Maman and Styria and the reminders of her failure.

Nothing had changed outside but inside, inside she was a recovering city, thriving but scarred. It was always going to be like this, always going to be her against the pains of the past, the joys of an era lost to her in the ocean of her memory.

She glanced up, the glare of the sun blinding her for a moment. Frowning, she moved quickly, ducking through the door of a nearby café in order to get out of the blistering summer heat. She had not been here for decades but she still remembered well the inconvenience of a hot summer’s day in a busy city.

“Que puis-je vous obtenir aujourd'hui, mademoiselle?”

She looked up at the waiter standing over her table as she took her seat. He was well-dressed, sharp, handsome. In another lifetime, maybe or maybe not. She was one for doomed loves and a heart that could never accept the strictures of society’s rules.

“Thé, s’il vous plaît.”

He nodded and retreated to the bar with her order, leaving her to her thoughts. Mother would have appreciated this, would have appreciated the way the world slowed down in this tiny café when she entered, as if waiting for her.

Mother had always been one for grandeur, for the world stopping just for her and no one else. She had expected the same for her, had expected the same _from_ her, though she had never said as much. It was understood, a statement of truth that never needed to be voiced.

Even now, she wondered if that had changed, if it was still the same after all this time. It might not have been, but she did not know, could not know. She had vowed never to return to that, never to go back to that life that had cost her so much. Distance was best, was the only way she knew how to honour that.

It was all she had now, the solitude, the loneliness setting in, freezing her heart like ice until all that she was left with was this cold, harsh feeling that refused to melt away. She hated it, hated that she felt this way even after all this time, but she could do nothing to dispel it, not when the only other options were intolerable at best, repugnant at worst.

Tea set in front of her, a polite smile. She thanked her waiter, turned her attention back to sunlit streets and the lives of mortals blissfully unaware of the darkness that surrounded them, time passing slowly, an ever-present crawling thing, wretched in its existence.

“There was a time when you were like that, my darling. Ignorant. Oblivious.”

She was not surprised, not in the least, when she knew that this day would come. She had just not known it would be here so quickly.

“I was young. Naïve.”

“You were a creature of beauty, grace.”

“And now?”

“Un ange. Mon ange déchu.”

“Non, Maman. Pas là.”

“Then where, my beauty? Where would you have us converse?”

She did not answer, simply stood, her tea still warm as she slipped some money onto the table, walked away. She did not need to look back, did not need to check to see that Maman was following her.

There was a time when she would have been afraid, when the idea of Maman following behind her would have had her shaking. It still did but now, now there was a curious difference to that fear, one borne not out of concern but out of old darkness, nightmares resurfacing once more.

Fists clenched, expression dark. As she led the way to her apartment, she forced her thoughts away, forced her mind to go blank. She could not do this, could not let her see the darkness that coloured her vulnerability. Maman would know how to twist it, how to take advantage if it until she was a sobbing mess, bleeding out her emotions on the floor as she was brought to her knees before her.

“I always thought that you would eventually come to this.”

She closed her eyes, pressed her forehead against the warm glass of her window as Maman surveyed the shabby, dusty area. This was who they were, was what they did, but it hurt, pained her in a way she had forgotten it could.

“You always did lean towards the starving poet aesthetic in the 1860s.”

“What do you want, Maman?”

“What do you think?” she moved towards the window, touched her cheek. “You were never meant to die but you were also never meant to leave that coffin before your time.”

A breath in, one out.

“I wasn’t aware that I would be freed.”

“Foolish girl, of course you would have been released. Perhaps not now but certainly when you realised the error of your ways. I didn’t save you just to kill you, after all.”

She nodded, knew this well. Maman valued her too much, _loved_ her too much to kill her. She was a prize, something to be treasured and held in Maman’s selfish grip. Death…death would take that away from her, leave her bereft of the gift she had found.

“Mircalla, my dear sweet, glittering Mircalla. Did you think I would let you go so easily? That I would allow you to be taken away? Even dearest Azriel could not snatch you away from me.”

“I know. ‘You are mine and mine alone, forever of my blood and my soul.’” She recited the words that had been burned into her in a monotone but she knew better.

Maman grinned, light, cheerful. This was a side of her she had always been familiar with, a side only she was allowed to see, allowed to know. No one else would have this privilege, this curse.

“I’ve missed you so much.” She kissed her cheek, made her shudder as she tried not to flinch away. “It was for your own good, dearest. That girl, she was poison. She would have turned you from me, taken you from my protection.”

“You killed her in front of me.”

“You needed to see what she was, what she had always been. Mortals lie and cheat, Mircalla. They are creatures of deception.”

“So are we.”

“Yes, so are we. What makes one monster different from another, my love? What makes them so much better than us, gives them the right to judge us for our actions? They are the inferior race, weak, vulnerable. It would do you well to remember that.”

“What do you want, Maman?” she asked, tired, wary.

“I want you to come back to me, to come back to my side. We will be as before, my darling.” There was warmth where their skin touched, electricity at once familiar and daunting. Her skin itched. She wanted to immerse herself in hot water, if only to burn away that touch. “I want you to be mine once more.”

“Mother…” Hissed, whispered into the summer air. “Maman…”

“I’ll give you a day.”

Disappearing, the suffocating presence of Maman gone despite the traces of it that seemed to linger within her very being. She remembered then, remembered the way Maman’s touch could decimate her, could ruin her with seemingly no effort.

All her work, all that she had done. She watched as it vanished before her, desire and need warring with each other until they ravaged her body.

She trembled, her fingers shaking as she combed them through her hair. The air grew cold around her, the sun faint and dull on her periphery. Colours faded, sounds dimmed. Her world turned to grey as she stood there, her mind running over Maman’s words again and again until it was all she could do to stand still instead of fleeing.

She wanted this, God how she wanted this. Only, it was always the same, that lying voice telling her that things would be different, that _they_ would be different, only for everything to be the same, never changing.

Still, there was the lingering fear of Maman, of what she would do should she choose not to return. She had never wanted this, had never wanted her to know what she was doing to those girls. Maman had sheltered her from the worst if it, had used her as a piece in a longer game of which she had never truly been a part.

She wanted to believe that this would no longer be the case, that she would still maintain her freedom if she returned, but she knew differently, knew that she would only become that piece again. She would become Maman’s pawn once more.

No. Not a pawn. She knew what she was and she had never been as low as that. Maman was the queen but she was always the knight, kept by her side but separated by dissident faith in something that only Maman believed.

A sound, glass breaking. She looked up, death and whiskey scenting the air. Frowning, she moved to the door, opened it slightly.

He was young, maybe a year younger or older than her when she had been turned. He was too far down the hall for her to tell. The closer he got, the more she recognised the scent lingering around him, the presence that always seemed to haunt her in the dead of night.

Wrinkling her nose at the scent, she left the door open. There was no use in barring his entry, no use in denying him entry when she knew that Maman would find out anyway. She always did.

“So you’re the fresh meat that replaced me?”

One cup of water, two. She did not look at him while she poured, could not stand to look at him when all his presence did was remind her of the past, of the person she used to be before Ell.

“Jealous, Kitty? I’m touched.”

She scoffed. Cocky brat. He had no idea, could never know the true extent of her past with Maman, could never hope to achieve that when they both knew exactly who Maman preferred.

She closed her eyes, winced at the thought. That knowledge had ceased to be a comfort a long time ago.

“If you’re looking for Mother, she just left.” She forced the water into his hands, made him drink. The water would help to dilute the blood in his system, just like it did with alcohol and humans. “Somehow, though, I don’t think that’s the case. So what do you want, kid?”

“Nothing much. Just came to see what the fuss was all about.” He smirked, coming closer. A hand on her thigh, an unpleasant chill. “Gotta say, I get it. Pretty girl like you? Mother must have had a really good time.”

She snorted, pushed him away. This brat, she would have to return him. Sadly, he would have to back unharmed.

Sighing, she stood up. Grabbed him by the arm.

“Come on kid, let’s get you back before Mother tears Paris apart and throws you six feet under. She likes this city, don’t make her destroy it.”

It was easy, too easy to find Maman. Even for her, old habits died hard. She could always rely on her for that.

“Missing something?” she asked as she pushed him into the room, leaned against the doorway. “Rats really should stay away from the big cats.”

“That was never as amusing as you seemed to think it was, darling,” Maman murmured as she approached, ran a hand through her hair. “You know how much I hate it when you degrade yourself like that.”

Her grip hardened, the pain began. She stood like that, allowed Maman to do as she pleased. She could not resist, could not fight back without betraying herself, her memories. They were the only good thing she had left of Maman, the only reminder that maybe, once upon an age ago, she had been human as well.

“You have come to me willingly, wouldn’t you say?”

She could barely breathe.

“Of course, Mother.”

Her faint heartbeat sounded louder and louder with each second.

“Do you understand what would happen should you betray me again?”

A shake of her head, downcast eyes.

“I will not harm you again but you will lose everything.”

Her grip softened.

“You know how much I love you, liebling.”

A nod, gazes met.

“Do not give me reason to take things from you, my darling. It hurts me to see you in pain.”

This was it, the moment they had been too impatient to leave for much longer. There was nothing worth waiting for, no miraculous epiphany that would lead to her being able to escape Maman’s touch. This, this was all that there was, all that there would be in the future.

“I’m yours.”

She closed her eyes as she spoke, resigned, surrendering. There was something there, something simmering below the surface that that she could never escape, could never free herself from.

There were times when this was a curse, when it strangled her, poisoned her from within, but this was not that time. Now, now it was a safety net, something to help her relax into Maman’s service, if only for now.

Later, she knew, later she would find a way around Maman’s grip, a way to preserve what little of herself was left. Later she would find some way to survive this storm that threatened to bow her away, to drown her in its floods.

Now, however, now was the time to give in, to give Maman what she wanted. Now was the time to allow herself to fall, if only for a brief moment, and oh, how she fell. She fell and fell and fell until she could no longer find herself.

Maman held her close then, held her tightly but gently. She had forgotten this, had forgotten that she was capable of such care even as she was capable of great harm.

“My sweet girl, my sweet, sweet girl. Your return has long been awaited since I found your tomb empty, desecrated.”

“I’ve missed you so, Mama.”

The words were no lie. She had missed this, had missed the peace that came with knowing that she was not alone. It was always there, that loneliness, that need for someone, anyone else, haunting her.

First Maman, then Ell. There was always a temporary relief, a means of filling that empty hole in her soul that never seemed to end. Ell was lost to her but Maman, Maman was here, was real.

In that moment, it did not matter that Maman was cruel, that she had killed Ell, that she had buried her in that coffin. All that seemed to matter as she held her close was that she was there, that she was willing to alleviate the loneliness, if only for a time.

“Cariña, stay with me, stay with me always.”

She nodded into her chest. Tears fell, her shoulders shook. Maman stroked her hair almost lovingly, rocked her back and forth as she led her to her own rooms. Any other moment, this would have had her running but not now. As she curled into her even more, she could not help but drown herself in Maman.

“Oh, Mircalla,” she whispered, the last words she heard as darkness took her, “I promise this to you. I will never let you go again, not ever, my love.”

She did not reply.


End file.
